ING.

"I will give you another picture of Sweden," said the Moon. "Among
dark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the Stoxen, lies the old
convent church of Wreta. My rays glided through the grating into the
roomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins. On
the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem of earthly
grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted and
gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. The worms have
gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web from the crown
down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail and transient as the
grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep! I can remember them quite
plainly. I still see the bold smile on their lips, that so strongly
and plainly expressed joy or grief. When the steamboat winds along
like a magic snail over the lakes, a stranger often comes to the
church, and visits the burial vault; he asks the names of the kings,
and they have a dead and forgotten sound. He glances with a smile at
the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to be a pious, thoughtful
man, something of melancholy mingles with the smile. Slumber on, ye
dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon at night sends down his
rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangs the crown of pine
wood."

TWENTY-NINTH EVENING.

"Close by the high-road," said the Moon, "is an inn, and opposite to
it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just being
re-thatched. I looked down between the bare rafters and through the
open loft into the comfortless space below. The turkey-cock slept on
the beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. In the middle of
the shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast
asleep, while the horses were being watered. The coachman stretched
himself, though I am very sure that he had been most comfortably
asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants' room stood open,
and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over; the candle
stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into the socket. The wind
blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawn than to
midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wandering family
of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be dreaming of the
burning liquor that remained in the bottle. The little pale daughter
was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. The harp stood at
their heads, and the dog lay stretched at the